Musings at 50

  Well, it is official, the PNW is having a heat wave. Yesterday it was 100. Today it will be higher, not sure what it will end up but it is predicted to be 105. That is right - 105. I thought to myself, how is this possible? For an area that is considered moderate - neither too hot or too cold. How can I be in a space where it will be 105 today? Let me be clear. I find temperatures above 70 to be too hot. In the winter my house is between 60-70 - usually 65 during the day, and 60 at night. I need it to be cool to sleep. In order to be active, I need it to be cool. I am amazed at people who embrace the heat. I am NOT one of them. I found out earlier this week that it was going to be hot. Not just 90s hot (which I am also not a fan of) but 100s hot. I immediately started to unravel. My husband said my freaking out was probably worse than what was actually going to happen. And, my brain just kind of flipped out. I went into fix it mode - how can I fix it and survive the weekend? ...

5/19/2021 - Big Magic by Liz Gilbert Do I have buried treasure within me? Sometimes I am sure that I do and other times I am not so sure. How to tap into it is always the question or how do I unearth it? I talked to my brother on the way home from the beach yesterday and he asked me how I thought about the things I write. I told him is the secret is that I don’t. When I am in the zone, I don’t think at all, I just write. It is when I think, bringing my mind into the equation, that I stumble - I freeze - I cannot seem to let the pen flow, or in typing, it is the curse of the cursor just blinking at me. It reminds me of the times in college when I would have an assignment due, people remarked on my procrastination and I’d say I’m thinking about it and when I quit thinking, that is when I will write. When it would come, that place of peace, I could be up for hours putting pen to paper or my hands typing on the keyboard. Ideas flowing freely. I would often try to create or stage that momen...

  I feel it...unraveling. You think you know who you are. You PRIDE yourself on who you think you are, and then, when all of the activity and flurry subsides, you find yourself unraveling. Who am I? What do I stand for? When I peel away the busy-ness, the to do lists, the work, how I show up for others, how much I think about others, projects, deadlines, activity, am I missing something? Who am I? I am sitting down I am slowing down I am uncomfortable I have said this so many times before. My idea of a living hell would be to be trapped with only my thoughts - no ways to escape. All of the ways I escape. Keep busy, help others, eat, drink, numb out using your thing of choice - wine, bread, to do lists, hiking, walking, movement, Cheetos, alcohol, fixing someone, fixing something, anything to ignore the biggest elephant in the room. ME! I am trying to be curious. I don't know myself. Just to write those words, I feel this deep pain in my gut, my eyes cloud with tears. I have spend m...

  When I let go... Can I really let go? I feel like a part of me is gripping so tightly. But why? What sort of attachment could I have? I think if I could really let go I would feel so free, free for new things to emerge New experiences New flavors New smells I'm tired of the old stories, they rattle around in my head bumping into new things, maybe taking up too much space. If I could let go I would feel spacious Am I afraid of that spaciousness? What could I do with nothing but empty space? How could I fill it? Would I fill it? Sometimes I wonder if I am afraid to release, let go Release control Surrender - If I could surrender all Makes me think of a hymn from my childhood I surrender all, I surrender all, all to Jesus I surrender, I surrender all... I'm not in a place where I am comfortable with Jesus - but what if I could What if I could let go of it all? Surrender makes me think of a very definite release One where you do not hold back, you do not hold on, no tension, no b...

  Around Memorial Day, I start to think about what I used to do on this weekend. I did it for quite a few weekends and now, they are treasured memories. In my 20s I had a rocky relationship with my parents, but I had a close relationship with my grandparents. They would help me fly out to visit over Memorial Day weekend. The weekend would unfold with them picking me up from the airport in Omaha. I have never seen two people so excited to see me. I am enfolded in their warm embrace and there is much chatter about the flight and if I am hungry. A quick stop in to the Garden Cafe, for a large delicious cinnamon roll (we probably ate other things but this is what I remember). Then we would drive back to Exira. On the way back, we would talk in the car about what I had been up to and what they had been up to. Once back to the farm, we would take a quick stroll around the farm, taking note of what flowers were blooming and which ones were not. That evening, a quick bite to eat and lots o...

  Moments of devotion, required discipline, required dedication, priest or priestess I'm attempting to reacquaint myself with discipline. Dedication. Because I believe the piece I was missing was devotion. And the word REQUIRED brings a shutter to my soul. I grew up in a very strict household, there were rules and boundaries and structure. Not a lot freedom to choose what you wanted to dedicate yourself to.  Fast forward to now, and I am so simultaneously attracted to and repulsed by structure. It feels so hard to create it. I seem to default to structure. I talked to someone just the other day about rules and structure. For everyone, it needs to be consistent and I said I could appreciate that but I could see the also and the and, and when I completed the conversation I fell like a light went on in my head. Me, the rules girl, the control freak, the type A, but also the rebel, the questioner, the critical mind that can see where a spot of light breaches a dark hole. Embrace t...

 The prompt was the group randomly picking pages from the dictionary and then our facilitator selected a word from each of the pages. Celsius, uncut, al dente, amaretto, tuft Use at least three - and try to use all of them. he stared at me with his piercing green eyes - his irises like slits, he rubbed his head on the table and splayed his legs out leaving tufts of fur on the table, his fur remained uncut, even though it is our custom to shave him on occasion. His wild outdoor side not welcoming the grooming. We shaved him one winter desperate for some control of his hair, his mane, dark black mixed with a smokey grey and deep rusty red - depending on the time of the year. He would patiently sit while the brush when through his fur but only about 3 or 4 times before he'd whirl around to bite or snap. From a small kitten, received from an abandoned house, left or all that survived, he came to us one November. Still with his baby blues, his fur a black amaretto but long, tufts of it ...